


Bowerstone, Burning.

by zesulin



Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Battle of Bowerstone, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, this is so self indulgent i dont even care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8553049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zesulin/pseuds/zesulin
Summary: Logan watched as the flames licked up the wooden frames of the building in Old Quarter, and distantly heard the crack of gunfire, the roar of canons. It had gone on long enough—he was tired, had been for years now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Bowerstone was burning. 

Logan watched as the flames licked up the wooden frames of the building in Old Quarter, and distantly heard the crack of gunfire, the roar of canons. It had gone on long enough—he was tired, had been for years now. 

“Majesty, they’ve breached the gates. They’re making their way to the castle--” his guard-captain didn’t even have to say it. Closing his eyes, Logan pinched his brow, attempting to ignore the panic that was rising in him. Tiredness did not mean he couldn’t be fearful—for his family’s sake, at least. He choked it down, trying not to let his voice quaver as he gave his orders. 

“Wake up the children. I need you to take them and my wife to…” He could barely think of a place they might be safe. Anywhere but here within the city limits. The matter of getting out would be risky—they ran the chance of being caught in the crossfire, or worse-- being attacked by rebels. In his heart, he wanted to go with them, keep them safe. But years of ruling had not gone to complete waste; He knew that running now would mean death for more innocents, more unnecessary blood on his hands. No, he would stay, explain his case, and face his sister’s judgement—whether it be death or he were spared. He pulled away from the window, turning back to the guard-captain. “...The Millfields. Use the back roads. Tell them to dress plainly.”

“Sir.” The man saluted stiffly, before following Logan to the royal chambers. 

 

The room was dark when he entered, save for the faint, reddish glow of the burning city through the windows, and a single candle on the nightstand. The candlelight flicked and sputtered, casting stark shadows across four anxious faces—his wife, with her kinky hair let down, spilling around her shoulders, and their three children huddled around her. As he entered with the guard, they turned to him, fear in all four sets of eyes. Sibyl stood, children still clinging to her nightgown. 

“Logan—what is happening—“ He shushed her with a wave, going forwards and placing his hands on her shoulders, gently squeezing. 

“I need you all to get out of here. Now. Change into your plainest clothes. Go with Evander. Make no stops on the way.” Only then did the king’s voice falter—his voice choked suddenly with suppressed emotion. He watched as her expression went from confusion to grim understanding, brows furrowing and blue eyes filled with sadness. 

“What about you?”

“I will—“ Logan faltered once more, words dying on his tongue. His gaze flicked to the three terrified children still on the bed, staring up at him with wide, brown eyes; Blankets pulled up to their chins, clinging to one another as if their very lives depended on it. He swallowed the lump beginning to form in his throat, turning back to Sibyl and attempting to put on the most neutral face he could. Not brave. He had not been brave in years. “—I will remain, and defer to her judgement,” then, quietly, “…I do not know how merciful she will be.”

Sibyl closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and reaching up to touch his hand on her shoulder. She squeezed gently—when she opened her eyes once more, she nodded, and drew away.  
“Come, loves. We’re…going to visit our house in the Millfields for a little while.” She began to corral the children to the closet, where they dressed hurriedly, and packed up only essentials. There was little time to take anything more. 

 

When they had finished, Sibyl emerged with the youngest of the three in her arms, while the other two clung to her skirts and followed.

“Why are we going, papa? Why is it so loud?”

Sorrow—no, guilt, bone deep, ate at him. He knelt, placing a hand each of their shoulders, and grimaced. 

“…Papa is… In a bit of trouble. I need you to take care of your mum for me.” He fought the lump that was building in his throat once more. It dawned on him that he may never see them again, and in that moment, he drew them in close. They clutched at his arms, burying little faces in his neck. “…Whatever happens…I am proud of you. And I love you.” He held them for a long moment, before standing and regarding his wife and youngest. 

Tears shone in bright eyes, spilling over onto speckled cheeks—Sibyl bit back a sob, swallowing hard. She held their daughter close as canon fire continued to roar outside. 

“I love you,” she murmured, voice quavering. Logan’s gloved thumb passed across her tear-stained cheek, wiping away the moisture. 

“I love you, too.” He kissed her, cradling her face as continued to weep, albeit quietly. When he drew away, he kissed her forehead, and then his child’s. “And I love you. I’m proud.” 

“—Sir! The rebels have broken the line at the castle walls. They’re coming!” Logan’s expression hardened, an indescribable feeling blooming through his chest. Something like loss, caught between guilt, anger, and sorrow.

“Go,” he urged, and when she dallied, he pushed gently at the small of her back. “Go!” 

Their backs receded into darkness, a flurry of skirts and hastily packed bags, Evander leading them up. He watched as all that he loved disappeared into the night, and felt something in him breaking as his wife cast one last glance at him over her shoulder. 

 

He headed to the war room, defeated already. When shots rang down the hallway, he did not flinch. When the door opened and the princess and Walter broke in, he showed no resistance. 

There would be a trial. That was all that was promised him. Whether the sentence would be light or not, only time would tell.


End file.
